


Madness Is Quiet

by Elevensins



Series: FFXIV Stories [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, Mental Illness, Sadness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 16:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15976265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elevensins/pseuds/Elevensins
Summary: The tale of an Ishgardian daughter and the voices she hears.





	Madness Is Quiet

When she was eight, Credelot came home.

The sound of Mother’s voice wailing woke her in the dead of night. She pulled back her covers and tip toed quietly to the door, opening it just a crack so she could listen, peering toward the banister in the distance.

“We were ambushed near Falcon’s Nest, my lord… it was… I’m sorry.” 

She didn’t recognize the voice, tempted to open the door and sneak to the banister to see if she could peer down on who stood in the living room. Her mother’s sobbing was the only thing that gave her pause. Murelle Dzemael was a cold woman, rarely given to any emotion for very long. Her outburst was unusual, and disturbing.

“Murelle, please,” her father rebuked in a harsh whisper. “Get a hold of yourself. Take him up to his room, if you would Ser Davelle.”

Ondine gasped and quickly shut the door, scrambling back into her bed and pulling the covers over her head. The sound of footfalls on the staircase were heavy, armor jangling the floorboards creaking in protest. The lighter step of her parents followed. All three went into Credelot’s room, the door closing behind them. But she could hear movement, still, as his room was always right next to hers.

Her mother sobbed again, the sort of sound she imagined racked the whole body. She heard her father say something unintelligible, but in that same harsh tone. 

The door to her room opened slowly. Damielle looked at her from the darkness as if assessing if her sister were awake or not. “Ondine?”

Ondine gestered silently for her sister to come over. Damielle closed the door softly and pattered to her bed, slipping under the covers. 

“What’s going on?” she whispered. The noise in the other room had died off completely. Ondine shook her head.

“I don’t know. I think something happened to Credelot.” 

Damielle’s eyes widened. “Is he… is he dead?”

Ondine could see the tears welling up in her eyes. Credelot meant more to the both of them than anyone else. 

She reached up to brush the bit of moisture from her older sister’s eye. “No. I think they brought him back, but he’s hurt. Wait till Mother and Father go back to bed, I’ll go check, ok?”

Damielle, who was a year older, yet so much smaller than Ondine, smiled hopefully and nodded her head. Neither of them snuck out to see if their brother was home, in the end. The long wait weighed on their eyelids, until both of them were asleep before the choronometer downstairs chimed midnight. 

The next morning, Ondine woke to find Damielle gone. She rose from her bed and quickly dressed, running a brush through pale hair so fast it hurt. The door to her brother’s room was closed, and when she tried to open it, it was clearly locked. 

“Ondine,” Her mother’s stern voice called from down the hallway. “Breakfast is downstairs.” 

There was a tremble to her voice, though, and when Ondine looked up to nod to her, she blinked. Her mother was completely unkempt. Hair unbrushed, clothing disheveled. Blue eyes peered down at her, red rimmed, and that steely gaze held her fast where she stood. Never had she ever seen her mother with a hair out of place. Ever coiffed and painted with her chin held high and eyes boring through anyone they settled on. 

She left silently before her mother could chide her again.

The door remained locked for several weeks after that. Occasionally chirurgeons arrived and went inside. They left with grim expressions, nodding quietly to her father. More than once, Ondine swore she heard her mother in that room, weeping softly.

One night, she heard her mother’s soft footsteps in the hallway, leaving Credelot’s room. The door to her bedroom closed. Ondine slipped from her bed and out the door. She tried the door again, and to her surprise, it opened. Mother must have forgotten to lock it.

She heard something wheezing as she entered and the smell of potent chirurgeon potions made her wrinkle her nose. There was something underneath it, a pungent scent like something rotting. 

Her brother stared at her with glassy violet eyes as she approached. “Ondine? Look at how you’ve grown since I last sa–”

He stopped as a cough racked his pale frame so hard she thought he might break his ribs. She approached slowly, reaching out to touch his hand. Strong hands, she remembered, that wielded sword and shield in the name of Halone. Yet now, they were thin, pale, and cold to the touch. In contrast, his cheeks were flush with fever, struggling to breathe as he smiled at her.

Bandages criss-crossed his chest and she could see the faintest of dark blood beneath them. He tried to squeeze her hand, drawing her attention back to his gaunt face. “I don’t have much time, Ondine. Promise me you’ll look after Damielle, won’t you? I know she’s older but you have a strength she does not. Promise me?”

“I promise,” she replied numbly. The sights, the smells, the ardent look in his eyes, it made her head swim. 

He sighed as if in relief and his eyes closed. She stood up, watching him silently for a moment. Before she left, she leaned over and kissed his cheek, then scampered back to her bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Written while listening to 'Severus and Stone' by Radical Face.


End file.
